Angel of Mine
by bubblygal92
Summary: Rose was lost to the void at the end of Doomsday, and the Doctor had no choice but to live on while mourning the best thing in his lives. In his twelfth life, he comes upon a woman resembling her but she has no idea who he is or seems to remember anything about her past, except that her name is Rose Tyler. [Twelve x Rose UA]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is a gift for my lovely beta Vampiyaa, for being so amazing and making sure that everything I post is free of mistakes. She is also phenomenal for helping me out when I get stuck, and just generally being awesome.**

 **I plan on the story being about 5-6 chapters, so let's see how we go.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The Doctor piloted the TARDIS absently, his mind preoccupied with wayward thoughts. After several thousand years, he was beginning to feel his age, especially in this body of his. There were downsides to old age, especially how he could never seem to remember people like he used to. On the other hand, it also had the upside of how he had stopped caring whether he remembered or not.

Except her, of course. He could still see her face as she fell and the void closed behind her. Every time he blinked, that white room at Canary Wharf would flash behind his closed eyelids, and he could feel the pull of the void as a raw scream tore his throat at watching Rose fall. There was a time when he had wished he could have let go as well and fallen with her, but age had also taught him wisdom.

His companions would only ever be loneliness and pain, and he was certain that this particular incarnation of him had accepted the truth of it wholeheartedly. Even his eleventh self had tried to fight it, and chosen to mask it with wide grins and smiles, but in his twelfth life, he had ascended beyond keeping up a facade. Death and destruction always followed him, and finally, he had stopped running from it and accepted it a part of his life. He would never stop travelling, of course, nor would he ever stop finding new people to travel with. But he was wise enough to keep them at an arm's length. It was better for everyone in the end.

The TARDIS started materialising, and he smiled to himself. After so many years of piloting her, he didn't even have to pay full attention to the console anymore. He'd merely set the coordinates and she would usually take him with minimal guidance from him.

The star system of Valencia was one of his favourite places in the universe, and he hadn't visited it since his seventh life. There were only four planets in the system: Avalonia, Iphigenia, Hesperia and Ophelia, and twenty eight moons in total. The humanoids of the star system had evolved to live longer lives, and had rid themselves of war and conflict. Instead, they focused on all forms of arts and literature, choosing to add beauty to the cosmos.

He personally loved Hesperia's fourth moon, Hesperia Delta, for their lovely music scene in the northern sector, but this time, he had arrived on Iphigenia to his surprise. He shot a confused look at the console, and shrugged before deciding the TARDIS knew what she was doing. Iphigenia was certainly more of an urban society, with tall buildings, fast cars and commercialisation of everything under their red sun, but it was still better than Avalonia, which was definitely the most primitive of the four planets.

When he stepped out of the TARDIS, he realised immediately that the cool, dry air belonged to the inside of a museum. He had no idea how that smell and air managed to remain the same throughout museums across all of time and space. He closed the doors behind him and took a look around. It was a long gallery with a high, vaulted ceiling, and paintings lined up on both walls, separated from him by a gold velvet rope.

He started walking along the gallery, looking at the paintings keenly and noting that they were beautiful works, and belonged to some of the very prominent artists in history. None from Earth, of course, though he hadn't expected them to be either. The star system, while not too far from Earth, had existed several years before Earth would even have human life. He had just reached the last painting when a loud alarm sounded through the gallery and he heard the sound of running feet coming closer.

He turned to slip back into the TARDIS, but he felt something zoom through the air and prick his back. He winced in pain and turned around to see a group of security personnel regarding him with hostility.

"Ah," he said, reaching into his pockets. He saw a few more of them prime their weapons, but he drew out his psychic paper. "Don't worry," he began, but felt his vision blur slightly. "I'm the art inspector." The world started tilting, and he realised that whatever had pricked him in the back had been a tranquilliser. "Art inspector here to...inspect art."

His knees gave out and he fell to the ground with a thud. Just before he passed out, he heard one of the security personnel speak on the comms., asking for the curator.

* * *

Rose Tyler's day had already been busy, and it wasn't even time for lunch yet. Her new exhibit, her pride and joy, was finally ready, and she was busy with the launch party that was happening in two weeks. She hadn't realised that being the curator of a museum in the middle of Iphigenia's capitol would mean that every elite personality from the star system would be dropping in for the launch. She simply could not afford any mistakes.

She had been planning the launch for three months, and as it got closer, she got more and more nervous to make sure that everything went perfectly. She had spent her morning tracking down her caterer to go over the menu once more, and was already exhausted when her head of security came in to tell her that they had arrested an intruder in their new exhibit that was supposed to be opened at the launch party.

"He claimed to be an art inspector, ma'am," said Markus, her head of security. "He had the credentials and everything."

Rose rubbed her forehead. "Where is he now?" she asked.

"He's unconscious," said Markus. "One of the rookies had an itchy finger and he fired before we could say anything."

"Great," said Rose sarcastically. "Have him brought to my office. The intruder, not the rookie."

"Are you sure it's wise, ma'am?" asked Markus.

"Well, if he is indeed an art inspector as he claimed, then I doubt he would enjoy waking up in a prison cell, Markus," said Rose. "And if he isn't, I have to apologise and smooth things over before he decides to sue us."

"Yes, ma'am," said Markus, and saluted smartly before leaving.

Rose shook her head, and fixed her hair so she looked a little more presentable. Art inspector or not, she was going to have to apologise for the rookie who'd decided to shoot first before asking any questions. She had only just smoothed her hair down, and made sure that her grey tweed skirt suit had no wrinkles, when Markus returned to her office. Two of his people were carrying in a man with curly silver hair, dressed in a black suit.

"Set him down over there, please," said Rose, nodding towards the sofa in her office. "You didn't tell me he was an older gentleman," she muttered, looking at Markus. He shrugged apologetically, and Rose shook her head. "How did the rookie think he was a threat?"

"I don't know, ma'am," said Markus. "I intend to speak with him once this is taken care of."

Rose nodded, but the intruder started to stir, so she knelt over him. "Easy there," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. A strange chill ran down her spine, but she ignored it. "You've had a bit of a tumble. How are you feeling?"

The man was staring at her with bleary eyes before a dopey smile lit up his face, making him look younger despite the wrinkles. "I am feeling so great," he said, slurring a few words. "You are here. How can I feel anything but fantastic?"

Rose raised her eyebrows and looked at Markus. "What did the rookie shoot him with?" she asked.

"Standard tranquilliser, ma'am," said Markus.

"Well, clearly it has done more than knock him out," said Rose, looking down at the man who was now holding up a strand of Rose's hair in front of him and beaming so much that she was afraid that his face would split in half.

Markus scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Some people are known to have a reaction to the tranquilliser," he said. "Mostly off-worlders."

Rose cursed under her breath and gently extricated her hair from the man's grip. "Can you tell me your name, sir?" she asked, determined to handle this as professionally as possible.

"Yes," he said, but continued to stare at her like he'd never seen a woman in his life.

"Okay, what is your name?" she tried again, when it became obvious that he was too doped up to realise what she'd asked him.

His eyes abruptly focused and he grabbed Rose's hand with both of his, startling her. "You know me," he said, his gaze intense as it bore into her eyes. "You know me, don't you? Please tell me you know me," he pleaded, suddenly sounding breathless.

"Sir, let go of my hand," said Rose, feeling her heart pounding as fear flashed through her. "You're hurting me," she added when he merely tightened his grip.

At her words, he immediately let go. "I'm sorry," he said, his words slurring once more. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

Rose was surprised by his sincerity. "It's alright," she said. "I was just startled, that's all."

"Never wanted you hurt," he said, apparently not hearing her. "Never wanted to hurt you, Rose."

He slumped yet again and passed out on her sofa. Rose stared at his unconscious form in shock. She didn't remember telling him her name, and something about his words had shaken her. She straightened up and bit her lip, looking visibly distressed.

"Ma'am?" said Markus. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," said Rose quickly. "How did he get into the exhibit?" she asked, changing the subject.

Markus looked even more uncomfortable. "We don't know, ma'am," he said. "There wasn't a breach at any of the entrances. He simply just...appeared."

"Surely he didn't just pop out of thin air," said Rose, raising her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"Well, the only other thing that was out of place was a blue police box," said Markus.

"What's that?" asked Rose.

"I don't know, ma'am," said Markus. "It was locked, so we could not investigate further."

"Show me," said Rose.

Markus nodded and gestured at two of his personnel to stand guard over the intruder's unconscious form. He led Rose back down to the gallery with the new exhibit, and Rose was surprised to see that Markus had not been mistaken. It was indeed a blue box, the size of a cabinet that said 'police public call box' on it.

Rose stared at the box for a few long moments, enough for Markus to shift impatiently.

"Everything alright, ma'am?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Rose, her throat having gone dry for reasons she couldn't comprehend. She walked up to the box and laid a hand on it. "It's vibrating."

"It could be dangerous, ma'am," said Markus, but Rose didn't pay attention to him as she tried to open the door. "It's locked, like I said."

"So it is," said Rose, giving up. She paused contemplatively for a moment and then reached into her tweed jacket to pull out the key that she wore as a pendant around her neck. It was the only thing she had left of a life she had long forgotten, and she couldn't bear to part with it for reasons even she didn't know. She had no idea why she was getting the urge to use that key to open the box, but it made perfect sense in her head.

"Ma'am?" asked Markus uncertainly.

"Just trying something," she murmured and inserted the key into the lock. To her greatest surprise, it fit right in and when she turned it, she heard the unmistakeable sound of the door unlocking. She looked at Markus, who looked just as shocked as she did. She was about to push open the door when Markus' comm. buzzed in.

"Sir, you have to return at once," said Markus' second in charge over the comm. "The intruder is awake."

* * *

The Doctor was irritated, which was putting it mildly. So far, he had been dropped into the middle of a museum by his TARDIS, hit by a tranquilliser that had given him a massive headache, and the same people who had shot him were currently holding him. To top that, he remembered a hazy dream in which he'd seen Rose again, and he was in no mood to be around anybody else that day.

"You've seen my credentials," he snapped once more at the people holding him. "I need to go."

They paid him no mind, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance. He sat back on the plush sofa, trying to come up with an exit strategy. He knew that this must be the curator's office, but he couldn't see who the curator was yet. One of the people holding him had spoken over a comm. telling them that he was awake, so he assumed that the curator was on his way to see him. Usually, he would just charm his way out of it, but he was feeling distinctly uncharitable at the moment.

A tall man dressed in the same uniform as the guards walked into the office and appraised the Doctor sharply. "Identification, please," he said.

The Doctor stood up and resisted the urge to snap before flashing him the psychic paper again. "Dr. John Smith," he said. "Art inspector."

His eyes flickered down to the paper in the Doctor's hand, and he nodded once before standing down. "You can come in now, ma'am," he said.

"Give us the room, please, Markus," said the woman who walked into the office, and the Doctor felt the air leave his lungs with a 'whoosh'.

He barely noticed the security personnel leaving the office, and she was speaking but the Doctor could not hear a single word. It was Rose. Alive and beautiful Rose standing in front of him, close enough to touch. He didn't dare move, couldn't even blink for fear of breaking whatever delusion this was, which was letting him see Rose as if she were really alive and speaking to him.

He realised that she had gone silent, and had a confused look on her face with just enough wariness to jolt him from his conclusion that he was experiencing a rather vivid hallucination. Methodically, he examined all his senses, and realised that there was nothing in his system that could cause a hallucination of this kind. Even the tranquilliser-induced headache was gone.

Which led him to the conclusion that she was real. But it could not be Rose Tyler. Because Rose Tyler was long dead, and he knew he hadn't imagined that. An impostor perhaps, or simply a doppelgänger. That seemed to be a more plausible explanation.

Something in his chest loosened, and he focused enough to be able to speak to whoever this woman was. "What was that?" he asked.

She still looked a little wary. "I asked, how is your head?" she asked.

"Oh, it's fine," he said, wanting to hurry this along because quite frankly, it was far too painful to look at her. "I'll just be on my way then."

"Are you sure you don't need medical attention?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She nodded uncertainly. "Well, I apologise once again for my staff," she said. "If they'd had any idea that you were an art inspector, they would not have acted in such a manner."

"It's fine," he said hastily, and moved towards the door to leave but she casually blocked his path.

"I was wondering if I could ask you something before you left," she said, biting her lip nervously.

"What?" he asked, nearly snapping because he just wanted to get away from her.

"How did you know my name?" she questioned, with a curious look on her face.

That made him stop and stare at her. "What?" he asked again, his throat going dry.

"You called me Rose before," she said. "It seems really odd that you knew that."

"Your name…" he said, starting to feel dizzy again, but not because of the tranquilliser this time. "Your name is Rose?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "I suppose I should have introduced myself before. I'm Rose Tyler. Curator of this museum."

She held out her hand for him to shake, but he grabbed her wrist forcefully and tugged her forward.

"You think that's funny?" he asked, fury shining from his eyes. "Did you really think I would let you get away with using her name, let alone her face?"

She looked at him in shock and tried to shake his grip on her wrist, but he held it tighter still. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice shaking just a bit at how angry he looked.

"Don't play me for a fool," he snapped angrily. "What are you? Zygon? Rutan? Some other being capable of shape-shifting? I don't know how you knew to pick this face and form, but rest assured, it's the last thing you'll ever do."

"Let go of me," she said, looking furious. "I don't know what kind of side-effect that tranquilliser is having on you but if you don't release me, I'll call security."

He growled in anger but didn't release her. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice ice cold.

"I'm Rose Tyler," she said.

"No, you are not," he shouted. "Rose Tyler is dead. Do you hear me?" he asked, tightening his grip on her wrist to the point that it was painful. "ROSE TYLER IS DEAD."

She winced in pain. "Let me go," she said. "You're hurting me."

Those seemed to be the magic words because he let go and took several steps back. She rubbed her wrist, noting the budding bruises that had appeared on it. He noticed them too, and shame washed over him. Whoever she was (and maybe she was somebody else named Rose Tyler who just happened to look the same) did not deserve to have him manhandle her.

"I'm sorry," he said, uncharacteristically. "About the..." he gestured to her wrist vaguely, "wrist."

She nodded, cradling her wrist close to her chest. "I'm not lying to you," she said. "My name is Rose Tyler. I'm sorry if you lost someone who happened to have the same name as me."

The Doctor started to nod, but then he noticed that there was a key on her chest, next to where she was holding her injured wrist. Even from this distance, he recognised that key, because that particular key had been one of its kind, and he'd given it to Rose Tyler.

"The key," he said, his mind finally telling him what his senses had realised from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. "How did you get the key?"

She looked confused before lifting up the chain with the key. "I don't know," she said. "I've always had it. Curiously, it opened that blue box of yours. I don't even know how…" She stopped and took a step back when he crossed the distance and grabbed her shoulders. He felt her flinch when he touched her, but unlike before, his touch was utterly gentle.

"Rose?" he said softly. "It's me, Rose. It's the Doctor." She looked blankly at him, but he was not discouraged. "I know my face has changed but it's still me. I thought I'd lost you, precious girl. Have you been here long? How did you get here? No, wait, that's not important." He shook his head and placed one hand on her cheek. "You have no idea how long it's been since I have seen you. Are you alright?"

He waited for her to answer, but she only continued to stare blankly at him until she spoke. "I don't know you," she said simply, and moved away from his touch. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Rose, you know me," he said, not caring that he sounded desperate. "The Doctor. You remember when we met? I was all nose and ears and leather jacket. And then after that with all the hair and those skinny suits? Rose, you remember me, don't you?"

She took a few more steps back and shook her head. "I'd like you to leave now," she said.

"Rose," he said, stepping towards her but she stepped back yet again.

"Leave," she said. When he tried to come closer, she gave up on handling the situation herself. "Markus!" she called.

The door to her office opened at once and Markus walked in with two guards behind him. "Ma'am?" he asked.

"Please escort this man off the premises," said Rose. "I'm afraid he is dangerous."

"Rose," pleaded the Doctor as the guards grabbed his arms.

"He thinks I'm someone he knows, yet I have never seen him in my life," she said, crossing her arms over her body protectively.

"Escort him out," ordered Markus, and the guards dragged the Doctor out.

Rose looked away, trying not to look at him shouting her name as they took him out of her office.

"I'll see to it that he is escorted out of the museum," said Markus.

"Thank you, Markus," said Rose, feeling the need for a shot of whiskey even though she rarely drank. "I think the poor man is just confused, but I'd rather not have him near me."

"Yes, ma'am," said Markus and turned to leave. Just before he left, he looked back at Rose. "He seemed really convinced that you knew him. Is it possible for him to be someone from your past, ma'am?"

Rose raised a trembling hand to her eyes and shook her head. "No," she said. "I have no past."

* * *

 **A/N Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N The second meeting does not go any better than the first but the Doctor and Rose attempt to do their best.**

 **Thanks to Vampiyaa for the lightning-quick beta.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Rose couldn't focus on anything for the rest of the day. Her meeting with the Doctor, the man who claimed to know her, had left her questioning a lot of things. She'd long given up on trying to remember her life before the priestesses on Avalonia had found her, and after no one had come looking for her, she'd decided that there had been no one missing her.

Yet as she thought about the Doctor's words, it appeared that he'd thought that she was dead. And then there was the fact that her key had unlocked the blue police box. She'd had to have some instinctual memory, which would explain why she'd attempted to open it with her key. After several restless hours, she left her office and went down to the exhibit. She had no idea if Markus had let the Doctor take his blue box away, but she was hoping that he hadn't. Maybe whatever was inside the box would clear things up.

Luck was on her side, and when she got to the gallery, the blue box was just where she'd seen it before. She glanced around the gallery and noted with relief that it was free of any security guards. She didn't fancy explaining why she was sneaking down to the box when she'd had the owner quite literally thrown out of the museum.

The doors were once again locked, but Rose didn't hesitate to unlock it this time. She stepped inside the box carefully and immediately ran out. Circling the box a few times, she tried to calm her racing heart as she walked inside again.

"Doesn't make sense, does it?" she heard, and jumped when she saw the Doctor standing at the far end of the circular room that seemed far too big to fit inside the box.

"What is this?" asked Rose.

"This is the TARDIS," he said, still keeping his distance. "You really don't remember, do you?"

Rose looked at him, and saw incredible sadness and longing etched onto his face. "I'm sorry," she said, and then looked down. "I remember nothing until a few years ago."

He straightened up, but made no move to come closer for which Rose was grateful. "You remember nothing of the void?" he asked.

Rose stared at him. "The void?"

He nodded cautiously. "Some call it the Howling. Others say it's Hell itself," he said. "You fell into the void. That was the last I saw of you."

"I don't remember any of that," said Rose. "Did I really know you?"

He tried not to flinch at her words, but still visibly recoiled. "Yeah," he said, as if it pained him to say it. "Yeah, you knew me."

"And you thought I was dead?" asked Rose.

"No one can survive falling into the void without anything to protect them," he said. "It would have...should have...killed you."

Rose shuddered and crossed her arms over her body. "Is that why I don't remember?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said honestly. He took a few steps towards her, and Rose straightened up, looking ready to bolt. "I'll run some scans on you to find out."

"What kind of scans?" asked Rose, looking wary.

"The harmless kind," he assured her. "Just to see what's wrong."

Rose nodded absently, absorbing that information. "And I'll remember everything?"

"That's the plan, yes," he said, a hopeful smile lighting his face.

"Everything? I'll remember everything?" she asked again, her voice sounding odd.

"Yes, yes, of course," he nodded reassuringly, his smile growing brighter.

Rose nodded slowly. "And if I don't want to know?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said dismissively. "Of course you want to know."

Anger flared through Rose at his presumptuous tone. "And you are just so sure about that, are you?" she snarled.

The Doctor seemed shocked. "Well, you want to, don't you?" he asked, moving towards her but Rose retreated immediately.

Rose laughed harshly and without humour. "According to you, I've been through Hell. Literal Hell. Why would I ever want to remember that?"

"Because it's not the only thing you've forgotten," he said, like he thought she was being deliberately obtuse.

"I know that," shouted Rose, getting angrier at his superior tone. "Did you think I didn't see tons and tons of medical professionals to figure out what had happened to me, only to have them say that I have dissociative amnesia?" At his slightly surprised look, Rose continued. "You're a doctor, you should know what that is. It means my brain has been through such trauma that it chose to wipe everything from my mind so I could stay somewhat sane."

"That's not exactly what that means," he began, but stopped when Rose seemed to swell even more in anger.

"You have no idea, do you?" she asked. "You don't know anything about what my life has been or who I have become. You just want your Rose Tyler back. The one you claimed to know."

"It's still you," he protested, getting irritated.

"No, it is not," said Rose. "I have no idea who that person was. Neither of us know what happened to me once I fell into the void. All I know for sure is that you knew me and you let me fall into the void. Did you even look for me? Did you mourn? And who are we to each other? Are we friends? Lovers? Family? Huh?"

She was breathing heavily as she finished, and had angry red blotches on her cheeks. The Doctor's face got a dark look and he stormed over to her in anger.

"Did I mourn?" he spat. "You have no idea what I have been through. What it was like after you…" He trailed off and his face suddenly got very cold and impassive. "You're right. I do want my Rose back. Because I don't know who you are. And I don't really care."

Rose stared at him as tears sprang into her eyes involuntarily. "Fine," she said, her voice shaking. "Fine," she repeated. "Good luck finding her then."

She turned on her heel and stomped out of the TARDIS. The Doctor watched her leave and then turned around and knocked the coat rack over with a loud, angry shout. He ran his hands through his hair, cursing up a storm.

This was not how he'd wanted this interaction to go. He had snuck back into the museum and waited inside the TARDIS because he'd been certain that she would be curious and come to investigate. And he'd started out so well, keeping his distance and asking her questions. But then she'd argued, and he'd argued back, saying things he hadn't meant just because he was so angry about everything.

Rose Tyler was scared; she had to be because she remembered nothing about her life until a few years ago. And then he had barged into her life, scared the daylights out of her, and was now demanding that she become the person he remembered without even trying to get to know who she was now. No wonder she'd looked so hurt and furious.

He went over the console and banged his fist down on it. The TARDIS beeped angrily at him, but he ignored it. He needed to calm down, and try again. Rose Tyler, the person that she was now, deserved more than to be ignored because he missed who she had been. With that thought, he dematerialised the TARDIS, determined to be better next time.

* * *

The next day, the Doctor found himself running scans in the TARDIS to find Rose. The museum was closed that day, so he knew Rose wouldn't be there, which left him with tracking down her address. He'd deliberately not followed her right after she'd stormed out, mostly because he had been too angry himself.

It had taken him a long time to calm down, and he'd spent the night hovering in the doorway of Rose's old room. He hadn't entered it since Canary Wharf, too afraid to disrupt it with his presence. Even at his lowest, he had only ever sat in the doorway. In his last life, he had asked the TARDIS to move the room far, far away and never gone looking for it.

He hadn't asked for it back, but once Rose had walked out and he'd finished taking his frustrations out onto the console much to the chagrin of the TARDIS, she'd moved Rose's room right next to the console room, as a way to tell him to deal with his own issues and not assault her wiring.

The scans beeped with Rose's location, and he jumped up to pilot the TARDIS. He didn't have a plan per se, though he was determined to be more patient and understanding, something that was very, very uncharacteristic for him in this body. If it had been anyone but Rose, he probably wouldn't even have bothered trying to rein himself in, but for her, he was willing to try.

The TARDIS materialised at the right coordinates, and he realised that she'd parked herself respectfully down the street from the cottage that belonged to Rose. The little suburban neighbourhood was just outside the central business district of Iphigenia's capitol, and Rose's cottage was not unlike the rest of her neighbours' houses.

The Doctor walked to the sunny yellow cottage and opened the rickety white gate that led into a pretty little garden full of flowering shrubs. It was apparent even to his casual glance that someone looked after the garden quite well, and he remembered Rose telling him a long time ago how she couldn't even keep a cactus alive. Her words from the day before rang in his ears. He really did not know anything about the person she was now.

More determined than ever, he walked up the charming little porch and reached the French doors. He couldn't see anything through the glass because of a pair of lace curtains, so he knocked sharply and waited.

* * *

It was Rose's day off, and she was grateful for it, because she hadn't slept at all the night before. She kept replaying her conversation with the Doctor over and over, wondering if she'd overreacted. His answers had scared her, particularly all the talk about the void.

She hadn't lied when she'd said that she didn't want to know, particularly if the reason for her amnesia was whatever hell she had been through in the void. Yet, at the same time, not having answers was eating her up from the inside. She had lived a blank slate for years now, too afraid to get close to people for fear of losing them just like she'd lost herself. She moved every two years or so, kept to herself most of the time, and chose to focus on her art in her spare time instead of trying to meet people. She hadn't accepted a single invitation for socialisation from anyone who had ever asked her, and there had been quite a lot of people asking too.

She hated being a coward, a frightened girl too scared to take a chance for fear of losing what she had painstakingly rebuilt. Even though she didn't remember who she had been, some part of her was certain that this cowardly person that she'd turned into was not supposed to be her at all. The Doctor's appearance had scared her for reasons beyond the void and her lack of memories. It had also brought up how completely alone she was after pushing everyone away in her fear.

So, she had lashed out, and said things she'd regretted as soon as she'd said them. She had certainly not meant to imply that the Doctor had deliberately left her for dead, or that he had not mourned. Even though she had just met him, she could tell that losing her had devastated him. It had been unfair to provoke him by using that against him, but she'd been too angry and frightened to think clearly, a decision she had regretted the moment she'd walked out of the TARDIS.

She hadn't even reached the end of the gallery when she'd heard an odd, wheezing sound, and upon turning around, she'd found that the TARDIS was gone. She had gone home in a daze and spent a sleepless night wondering if she had lost her one chance of finally getting some answers.

Finally, at dawn, she'd left her bed and gone down to her studio at the back of her cottage and decided to work on some of her art pieces. But even there she couldn't concentrate, and she'd spent most of the morning staring blankly at her canvas and drinking copious amounts of her favourite hibiscus tea.

Around midday, she had finally begun painting when there was a knock on her front door. Scowling in annoyance, she set her brush aside and without bothering to wipe her paint-covered hands, she went to answer the door, only to find the Doctor standing on her porch.

He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he smiled a little when he saw her. Curious despite herself, Rose opened the door and stared at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "How did you even find me?"

"Can I come in?" he asked, instead of answering her questions.

Rose shrugged and stood aside to let him walk into her house. He stepped inside the cosy living room, and glanced around with bright, curious eyes as Rose closed the door and joined him. "How did you find out where I lived?" asked Rose again, determined to get an answer.

He met her glance and smiled sheepishly. "I used the TARDIS to track you," he said. "I wanted to apologise to you."

Rose's eyebrows shot up in surprise, both at his words and the way he squirmed uncomfortably as he admitted that. She decided to let the tracking thing slide for the moment as she crossed her arms and waited.

The Doctor cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets again. "You were right," he said. "You deserve more than me appearing in your life and demanding that you do as I say."

"So, naturally instead of waiting to see me at work, you decided to track me down at my home?" asked Rose, though she looked more curious than angry.

He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. "I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to go back to the museum," he said.

It was Rose's turn to look uncomfortable. "Right, I'm sorry about that," she said. "I was just...I was scared, but that's no excuse to have you...well, thrown out."

He chuckled a little, brightening his face significantly as he did. "Actually, being kicked out of places is more my style anyway," he said.

"Why?" asked Rose curiously.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. "A story for some other day," he said. "I came here for your story."

"It's not much of a story," shrugged Rose.

"Tell me anyway," he said, looking at her expectantly.

"Why?" asked Rose yet again.

"Because you were right," he said. "I don't know who you are now and I want to know." He paused and peered intensely at her. "But I was right too. You weren't honest when you said you didn't want to remember. We both need answers." His voice was calm and confident as he spoke his words like fact.

Rose met his gaze and then nodded slowly. "Sit, please," she said, nodding towards the stuffed sofa in her living room. He obeyed at once and sat down, looking at her expectantly. Rose took a seat in a chair facing him, trying not to fidget. "I don't know where to start," she confessed.

"The beginning is always a good place, I've heard," he said, a small smile curling his lips.

"Well, the beginning is sort of hazy," said Rose. "The first proper memory I have is waking up in the sanctuary of the First Priestesses."

"The ones on Avalonia?" asked the Doctor shocked. "How did you end up there?"

Rose shook her head. "I don't know. They found me in their orchard. Naked and passed out. At first, they assumed the worst but there wasn't a mark on me. Physically, at least."

The Doctor stared at her as his eyes got a stormy look. "Did they see who left you there?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"That's the thing," said Rose. "They contacted the law enforcement who checked the logs and nobody had been in or around the airspace of the sanctuary at the time. There were no intruders or transporters near the orchard either. If it was someone who had just left me there, there was no sign of them."

The Doctor's jaw clenched and he was silent for a few moments. "Were you hurt?" he asked.

"The priestesses called for a medic, but they found nothing wrong with me. No cuts, bruises or contusions anywhere on my body. All they found was this key around my neck, nothing else," she said, holding up the TARDIS key.

"Not even a head wound?" questioned the Doctor. "To explain the memory loss?"

Rose shifted uncomfortably but shook her head. "They didn't realise the memory loss thing right away, because I remained unconscious for close to a week," she said. "Once I woke up, they tried asking who I was or what I knew, but I could only remember my name. They thought my memory would return in its own time, but it hasn't."

The Doctor was silent for a few moments, until he rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Do you remember anything at all?" he asked. "About your old life. A-about who you were?" He expected her to say no just like she had before, but she hesitated this time. "What?" he demanded at once.

"Come with me," said Rose, standing up.

The Doctor got to his feet and followed her as she led him through a homey kitchen to a spacious room beyond that had been converted into a studio. Half-finished works of art on canvas rested against the wall, while a few more were set up on easels around the room, and tables and desks were littered with paints, brushes, tracing papers, pencils, and every other kind of art paraphernalia imaginable.

"This is my...work room," said Rose unnecessarily as the Doctor looked around with interest. She saw his eyes stop on a painting that she had finished only a few weeks ago, and she hurried over to pick it up and bring it to him. "I saw this in a dream," she murmured, setting the painting down on an empty easel so they could look at it. "I don't even know what it is, but I just had to paint it."

"It's a viewing platform," said the Doctor, his gaze transfixed on the painting. "Windows of the viewing platform, anyway. Platform One, to be precise."

"And the inferno beyond the window?" asked Rose, looking intently at the Doctor instead of the painting.

"That's the planet Earth," he said.

"Earth?" asked Rose with a confused look on her face. "The ice planet?"

The Doctor tore his eyes away from the painting to stare at Rose. He was about to question it when he realised that Earth had to be still in one of its ice ages. "Yes," he said. "But this is in the future. What is beyond those windows is the view of Earth as it blew up."

Rose looked horrified. "Blew up from what?"

The Doctor smiled sadly. "Time," he said. "One thing that nobody can escape from."

"And I was there?" asked Rose, looking at the painting in a whole new light.

"Yes," said the Doctor, now looking at her as it was her turn to stare flabbergasted at the painting. "More than 5 billion years from now their star will expand and explode the Earth. And you and I were there. Standing on that platform and looking at that view."

Rose's eyes were full of tears, but she looked confused as she turned back to the Doctor. "Why does that make me sad?" she asked, her voice small. "Stars expand and planets die every day. Why is this making me sad?"

The Doctor was smiling as his eyes lit up. "Because it was your home," he said. "Earth was your home and you are sad because some part of you remembers that it was your home."

"How can that be?" asked Rose. "You said it will be more than 5 billion years in the future."

"Oh, it's the TARDIS," he said, his mood brightening up now that he realised that she still had her memories buried in a corner of her mind. "Time and relative dimension in space. Travels in space and time, you see. We just get in and disappear from here and go anywhere in space and time."

Rose was staring at him wide-eyed. "Anywhere in time and space?"

"Anywhere," he breathed, expecting her face to light up as well but she appeared to be deep in thought. "But that's good."

"Good?" Her expression said anything but that.

"Yes, it's good," he insisted, like she was being particularly dense. "You remembered Platform One. Not entirely what it was, but enough detail for you to paint this. It means your memories are all there. Blocked, perhaps, but that can be fixed."

"It can?" she asked, her tone getting even more hostile but the Doctor was too enthusiastic to notice.

"Oh yes, it can," he exclaimed. "I simply pop into your mind, see what's blocking it, unblock it, and voila! Memories returned!" He beamed expectantly at her and realised for the first time that her expression had grown stonier with every word. "Rose?" he asked warily.

"Oh, now you're interested in my opinion?" she asked, crossing her arms. At his confused look, she shook her head. "You just did it again. You did it again and you didn't even realise it."

"Did what?" he asked, bristling at her tone.

"Went ahead and made a decision for me without even asking," shouted Rose. "You said you were here to apologise and it took one measly look at a painting of something familiar and suddenly, all the talk about wanting to know my story and figuring out what happened to me goes out the window. Now it's all about what you want."

"I want you to have your memories back," he said, his voice rising too. "The same thing that you want."

"It's not the same thing!" Rose's eyes were spitting fire as her fists clenched. "I want my memories back because I am desperate for answers. Desperate enough that I was willing to overlook you using your time machine to track me down, desperate enough to let you into my home even though the bruises you gave me yesterday haven't begun to heal, desperate enough that I shared with you things about my past that I have been too afraid to share with another soul." She was crying now, not even bothering to hide her tears. "You were happy when you saw me crying for Earth. You were _actually happy_ about it because it meant that you were right and you would get what you wanted. Rose Tyler, as you remembered her. Damn the consequences."

"Do you think I am not desperate?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I am so old now, and I have lost so much. But losing you made me lose parts of myself I didn't even know I was capable of having. Do you think I am not desperate to get you back?"

"That's the problem!" said Rose, turning away. "That's exactly the problem. I have known you for a day and I can tell that you are hurting so much. But you still don't get it. You don't see me. You see a ghost and you will always see a ghost because the Rose Tyler that you knew may very well have died, because I am not her. Even if I get my memories back, I won't be her. And you don't get that, and I'm afraid you never will."

"You are her," he said, trying to make his voice gentle. "Once you get your memories back, you'll see. You _are_ Rose. _My_ Rose."

"No, I am not," said Rose sadly. When he opened his mouth to protest, she spoke before he could. "What is my favourite colour?"

"What?" he asked, thrown by the incredibly odd question.

"My favourite colour," said Rose. "Surely you know that."

"It's red," he said at once.

"No, it's yellow," said Rose, shaking her head. "What's my favourite flower?"

"Roses, even though you like to tell people that you don't like them," he said, not deterred that her favourite colour had changed.

"Tulips," she countered. "What is my favourite season?"

"Winter," he answered quickly.

"It's spring," she said, looking at him with something close to pity.

"These things are arbitrary," he said. "Superficial stuff."

"No, they are just an example," said Rose. "You remember the Rose Tyler who liked the colour red, and roses, and enjoyed winter. When I get my memories back and I still prefer tulips over roses, then what?"

"So you wouldn't want your memories back for a remote possibility that I won't like you because you like yellow instead of red?" he demanded.

"No, I wouldn't want my memories back because I won't be the person you want me to be," said Rose. "I wouldn't want them back because I am terrified of what happened to me that it made my mind turn on itself in this way. I don't want my memories back because I am scared that you want your Rose back so badly that you will do anything to get her back. Even at the cost of me."

He looked like she had struck him. "I would never do that," he said.

"Not intentionally, no," said Rose. "But you just said you would go into my brain and unlock the memories. Memories blocked by a traumatic event, I might add. What will that do to me? Did you even think?"

"I would never let any harm come to you, Rose," he said earnestly.

"Maybe," said Rose. "But this is twice in as many days that I have seen you lose sight of everything but your desire to get your Rose back. So you may make your promises, Doctor, but they really don't mean much in the face of what I have witnessed with my own eyes."

"What do you want me to say, Rose?" he asked finally, sounding tired. "What is it that you want to hear?"

She said nothing for a few minutes before drawing in a deep breath. "Goodbye," she said finally. "I want to hear you say goodbye to me, and leave and never come back."

For a moment, it seemed like he would fight but then his shoulders slumped and he suddenly looked older than Rose had ever seen him. "If that is what you want," he said.

"It is," said Rose, fresh tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't give you what you want, Doctor. For that, I am so sorry."

He merely nodded and turned to leave. Rose followed him out to the front door, but he turned around at the last moment and drew out a piece of paper from his jacket. "This is for you," he said.

Rose took it and saw a string of numbers printed on the paper. "What is this?" she asked, confused.

"The number to the TARDIS," he said, opening the front door and stepping outside. "If, one day, you change your mind...call, and I will answer."

Without waiting to hear her reply, he turned and left. Rose watched him walk down the street to the TARDIS and go inside. Moments later, the TARDIS vanished with a wheezing sound.

Rose stared at the paper in her hand and crumpled it up before tossing it into a waste paper bin near her door. She stared at the bin for a moment and cursed loudly as she reached back in and fished out the paper. Going back inside her house, she smoothed out the paper and stuck it inside her favourite volume of poetry.

 _One day_ , she thought, _she might be brave enough to make that call_.

* * *

 **A/N Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought.**


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